The Things the Driver Knew

For seven years, Kojo sat behind the wheel and said very little.
In many parts of Africa, a driver is expected to know his place. You arrive early. You open doors. You keep quiet. Kojo understood this well. He wore his humility like a uniform and treated his job with dignity. Driving for a powerful businessman in the city was not just employment. It was survival for his family.
What people did not understand was how much a driver sees.

Kojo knew his boss’s habits better than most executives in the company. He knew which meetings were genuine and which were cover stories. He knew the late-night phone calls that came after public speeches about integrity. He knew the side entrances, the quiet hotels, the envelopes passed without words.
He never asked questions. He never took notes. He never spoke.
Drivers learn early that silence is protection.

From the front seat, Kojo heard conversations never meant for him. Business deals negotiated with bribes disguised as “facilitation.” Friends turned enemies over money. Promises made to workers that were never intended to be kept. He heard laughter after decisions that would cost others their jobs.
He also saw the human side of power. The fear. The paranoia. The constant need to control narratives. His boss trusted him because Kojo never reacted. Trust, in this case, was built on assumed ignorance.
Then the firing came.

No warning. No explanation. Just a brief meeting with Human Resources and a letter that thanked him for his service. His access card was taken. His phone calls went unanswered. Seven years erased in ten minutes.
The reason given was “restructuring.”
The real reason was fear.
Kojo knew too much.

In Africa, power often protects itself by removing proximity, not wrongdoing. It is easier to fire the witness than confront the truth. Kojo was not accused of theft or misconduct. He was simply no longer useful. Loyalty, it turned out, had an expiration date.
The aftermath was heavy. Without income, Kojo struggled. His children were sent home from school. Friends advised him to “let it go.” Others warned him to stay quiet. Speaking out would only bring trouble.

Yet the greatest damage was internal.
He questioned his worth. He questioned whether integrity had any value. He questioned whether silence had truly protected him. Anxiety crept in. Sleep became difficult. Trust felt dangerous.
This is the hidden mental health cost of power imbalance. When people at the margins witness injustice but lack protection, silence becomes trauma.

Dr. David Rex Orgen shares this story to remind us that many workers carry invisible burdens. Drivers, aides, domestic staff, and junior employees often know the truth behind polished reputations. Their silence should not be mistaken for ignorance.
If you are a leader, examine how you use power.
If you are an employer, protect dignity, not just image.
If you are a worker who has been silenced, know that your story matters.
It is time to create systems where truth is safe, accountability is shared, and people are not punished for what they know but protected for who they are.
Change begins when we stop ignoring the voices closest to the truth.

By Dr. David Rex Orgen, Best-Selling Author and International Mental Health Expert